


Blood and Fire//Blood on Blood

by kissontheneck



Category: American Idol RPF, cookleta - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissontheneck/pseuds/kissontheneck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things have gotten tough, but Archie's always got Cook's back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Fire//Blood on Blood

** BLOOD AND FIRE **

 

_"I can't believe you! I can't believe you're betraying me like this!"_  
  
"Don't say that! It's not true so don't say it!"  
  
"You are! I thought you loved me, David!"  
  
"I do! Which is exactly why I have to leave!"  
  
"That doesn't make any sense whatsoever!"  
  
The words of the fight were as fresh as the day they'd been shouted in the foyer of the L.A. house. The image of that dark-haired kid standing in the doorway with his duffel bag clutched tightly in his hands still burned in Cook's vision, though it'd been weeks now. Weeks of hearing it over and over again. Weeks of the words piercing him and torturing him. Weeks of him being angry, feeling betrayed -- all the while doubled with the heaviness of guilt for being so selfish and the sorrow of losing his lover.  
  
The frustration and anger consumed him, something that had not happened to him before. He'd never been so infuriated, so torn up inside that it'd stew inside of him until he was so angry that he threw dishes into his sink, or swigged the last of his fourth beer and in a moment of loss of self-control slammed it against the wall before melting onto the floor in a heap of curses and shame. Closing his eyes, he allowed his head to fall back against the pale blue painted wall -- a color David had chosen, he couldn't help but remember. He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to live the rest of his life like this, his heart constantly breaking, shivering in his lonely bed at the lack of the small, lean body that used to occupy the space -- a space that wasn't going to be filled up again. As much as he hated and tried to fight the fact, it didn't make it any less true. This was the end.  
  
_"Archie, what are you doing? Why are you packing your bag?"_  
  
"I'm leaving."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I had to make a choice, David. I just can't do this anymore. I can't live two lives."  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
"I just can't."  
  
It was hard for Cook not to blame David's church. Hard for him not to blame Mormonism itself. It was, after all, the whole reason he had left. The whole reason the other half of him had suddenly disappeared, taking half of his heart and soul with him. It hadn't been the first time the consideration had come up -- David was devoted to his church and to his family, both things Cook had always admired about him. Unfortunately, it also come in between the two of them more often than he liked, and in the end they had a heated discussion about what either of them wanted. Cook had tried to help David, tried to remain as neutral as possible. He held a bias, of course. He wanted David to choose him. To live the life he knew was his true self. Cook thought he was winning the battle for awhile.  
  
Turns out he was totally wrong.  
  
Sitting on the cold tile of his kitchen floor, Cook cast his eyes upward, staring blankly at the ceiling. It wasn't like David had stopped loving him, he knew that. In fact, he knew it so well that he nearly wished that David _had_ stopped loving him. He could get over that. What he'd never get over was knowing that face -- that sorrowful, regretful face that slowly disappeared behind the door that night. The voice that said, "I love you" one last time before disappearing forever.  
  
_"Hey, Archie, I'm home! Sorry I'm so late, I swear that traffic gets worse by the day. I brought dinner."_  
  
_"I'm not very hungry."_  
  
_"You feeling okay, buddy? Hey, look at me, you look pale."_  
  
_"I'm fine, I just need to... we need to talk."_  
  
He felt like he'd been forsaken. God forsaken, he might even say. Neither of them had called the other, though Cook wanted to so badly. In the end he knew it'd only make it worse though. There was no need to cause more stress for himself or David. He didn't hate him after all, and he wanted to do whatever would make David happy, no matter what. Even if it meant this unmeasurable pain. Even if it meant letting him go and choose a life that was undoubably going to make him miserable. Even if it meant he'd never talk to him again.  
  
He wondered if he'd ever talk to him again.  
  
Shaking his head of the thoughts, Cook decided he needed to get up. Sitting here wallowing was ridiculous. He needed to fucking man-up for God's sake. He needed to get over being so heartbroken because it wasn't going to bring David back. Nothing was going to bring him back now. Reaching behind him, his hand fell to his side as he groped to push himself up from the floor. It wasn't until he'd put his whole weight into it that the pain shot up his arm and he dropped back down hard, immediately pulling his hand close to his middle. Cursing, he carefully pulled a large shard of broken beer bottle from the fleshy part of his palm. As the piece of red-tinted glass tumbled to the floor, Cook clasped his free hand across his mouth, the blood streaming down his other forearm as swiftly as the tears from his eyes.  
  
 

 

_I have spent nights with matches and knives,_  
_Leaning over ledges, only two flights up._  
_Cutting my heart, burning my soul_  
_Nothing left to hold,_  
_Nothing left but blood and fire._

_You have spent nights thinking of me,_  
_Missing my arms, but you needed to leave._  
_Leaving my cuts, leaving my burns,_  
_Hoping I'd learn._

  
  
**BLOOD ON BLOOD**  
  
David was shaken awake by his phone rattling noisily near his ear. Squinting his eyes against the darkness, he could only blearily make out that it was almost three in the morning. Sitting up quickly, he pawed at the bedside table, giving a long glance across the bed where his wife lay, her back arching as she was jarred from her own peaceful sleep. David grabbed at the phone, hoping to silence it before she was fully awake and aggitated for no reason. But as his eyes pulled across the brightly lit screen, his fingers seized their movement as the combination of letters on the caller ID came into sharper focus and made a sensical pattern.  
  
_David Cook..._  
  
The numbers after the name were a blur. He glanced back to his wife's stirring figure.  
  
"Who is it, David?"  
  
He didn't know how to answer her. She knew Cook, but not well. She'd never met him and she definitely didn't know... Well, there were plenty of things that had conveniently not come up in conversation in the ten years they had been married. Besides, David was tempted to not answer it. What on earth could be happening at two in the morning over a decade after he'd last seen his friend? A foggy memory of going to pick up Cook in bars because he couldn't drive himself home and prompted similar calls slipped into his thoughts and he almost scowled.  
  
His wife rolled around to face him, and blinked blearily up at him. "David?"  
  
The phone was still ringing, but David felt like his heart had stopped. Why? How did that name... just a jumble of letters strewn together -- most of them just like his own -- how did it effect him so strongly? How did it make his heart rise into his throat and his stomach to swirl with nervous nausea? How?  
  
"It's... just, don't worry, I'll..." He didn't finish and finally punched at the button that would connect him to his distant past.  
  
He brought the phone to his ear and there was a beat before he remembered how to speak. The word that came across his lips sounded as if it came from a voice not his own.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
There was rustling and background mumbling, and David thought maybe, just maybe, gentle sobbing. He swallowed hard and pressed his ear harder against the phone. "Hello? Are you there..." He almost ended the question with 'David', but his wife was still gazing at him, quizzical look across her features. He waved his hand at her, hoping to convey the message, "It's nothing, go back to sleep." It didn't seem to be working, however.  
  
He was startled by the familiar voice, the one he'd heard so many times over the phone. Heard it from the passenger's seat in the car, and next to him on numerous flights. Heard it whisper into his ear at night just before he fell asleep. And that's how it sounded now -- quiet, vulnerable, and sad.  
  
"David," it whispered. "Oh God, David..."  
  
Cook fell into a series of gasps and hiccups and David felt his eyes bulge as he fumbled through words that wouldn't come out of his mouth properly.  
  
"Are you... are you okay?"  
  
"David, what's wrong?  
  
David cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and attempted a serious firmness that he'd never been able to master. "Sarah, please, just... I've got it under control!"  
  
She blinked at him, affronted, before she finally settled against the pillows, though she still had her eyes fixed on him. David turned slightly to shield his face from her.  
  
"Are you okay?" he repeated into the receiver.  
  
More shuffling and empty air answered him. "It's... I didn't think it'd be so... I can't believe..."  
  
Cook's voice trailed and David scrunched his brow as if doing so would help him to hear better or to understand.  
  
"What happened? Are you all right? Is everyone all right?"  
  
The dead silence that followed was almost deafening. David swore time stood still for about twenty minutes, though in reality it was probably about five seconds. And then, words that he knew he never wanted to have to hear.  
  
"Adam," Cook choked, struggling against the sob that came anyway. "Jesus, David... he's... it's..."  
  
Cook never finished the sentence, but David didn't need him to. He knew he'd get this phone call one day. Though so many years had passed now that he'd hoped that just maybe they had managed to sneak past the inevitable fate. David closed his eyes and swallowed hard. If he'd been alone and Sarah's eyes weren't burning into the back of his neck he'd probably make some sort of whimpering sound, but he managed to bite his lip instead, straining to hear Cook's whispered words.  
  
"I'm sorry," Cook breathed, almost inaudible. "I know it's like three a.m., but I didn't... I needed to call someone."  
  
"I know," David replied. His stomach clenched uncomfortably as he recalled nights of lying next to Cook, listening to him unravel about his brother. Cook was supposed to be the strong one, the brick wall that didn't crumble. But in those vulnerable moments it was he who had to be brave and hold him close and wipe his tears.  
  
Sarah's hand graced David's side and he nearly jumped off the bed. He pulled out of her reach more out of instinct than purpose. He glanced at her, knowing he wasn't being fair to her. But at the same time it was too much for him, too much to handle, and comfort Cook and explain to her all at the same time.  
  
"Where are you?" David asked into the receiver, one eye still on his wife. "At home?"  
  
There was an affirmative hum followed by a sniff and a cough. "Yeah, in Missouri."  
  
Silence hung heavily for a moment and David felt every ounce of it on his heart. He needed to say something, he knew, but he'd never been very good at that sort of thing, not to mention that he didn't want to say too much in front of Sarah. He wasn't sure why he was so anxious about it; Cook was his friend after all and what was wrong with that? But the feelings that were stirring within him made him feel blanketed with shame and he was convinced she'd see right through his decades-old sham. He'd been doing just fine until David Cook came parading back through his life. It reminded him of the first time he'd met him.  
  
"I wish..." Cook's gruff voice was almost a surprise after all the daydreaming David was now doing. He trailed and sighed.  
  
"What?" David asked. He ran his palm along his thigh without thinking. "What is it?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"No, not nothing. What do you wish?"  
  
Something about the way David felt told him Cook was hesitating, weighing whether he should say what he wanted to. He knew him so well and could almost picture him shuffling his feet and shifting his weight as if he'd seen him do it just yesterday.  
  
"I wish you were here."  
  
The breath that stole from David's chest seemed to drawn into Cook as he sucked in air, quickly backtracking. "I mean, I didn't -- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it, I know you've got another life now."  
  
David was stuck. He wanted to agree and disagree at the same time. Looking at Sarah, he frowned. She had finally settled back into her sleeping position, though he was certain she was still straining to hear his conversation. His heart swelled into his throat.  
  
"It's okay," he said finally. "Don't worry about it."  
  
"Look," Cook said, now rushing. "I should let you go, probably. I'm sorry I called so late. Maybe I'll call you back tomorrow during the day."  
  
"Dave, you're fine," David said and he swore he saw Sarah move when he finally said his friend's name. "Try to get some rest now, okay? You need it. I'll talk to you later."  
  
"Thanks, Archie."  
  
David stared at the screen of his phone, even moments after the call had ended. His eyes traced the letters of "David Cook -- Call Ended" until the screen faded to black. Things had gotten awfully surreal in the last ten minutes, particularly in the last moment. No one had called him by his nickname in at least a decade.  
  
"David, is everything okay?"  
  
Sarah's voice was almost grating, though through no fault of her own. Without even knowing it she was being disruptive, her continuous needling more irritating than usual. He glanced in her direction, silent as his fingers tightened around his phone. His brain was suddenly bombarding him with thoughts; the kinds of thoughts he hadn't even dreamed of in years. Crazy, impulsive thoughts that were so out of his character that they would shock anyone he knew these days. But once upon a time -- once he'd not only had those thoughts, but acted on them too, and that was all due to the influence of one David Roland Cook.  
  
Wordlessly, David got up from the bed, striding across the room in his pinstriped silk pajamas. Sarah repeated his name but he ignored her as he flung open his dresser drawer, pulling on the first pair of jeans and a t-shirt he could find.  
  
"David, what are you doing? Why are you dressing?"  
  
It wasn't until he'd traded the pajamas for the clothes and he had shoved his phone into his pocket, tightened his belt around his waist and snatched his wallet from the top of the dresser that he finally looked at her sitting upright in bed, worry on her face. He quickly slipped his feet into shoes and grabbed his keys from off the dresser as well before moving towards the door.  
  
"I have to go," he said solemnly. His voice came from another lifetime.  
  
"Go?" Sarah asked pleadingly. "Go where? Why?"  
  
David only paused a second, his hand gripping the doorknob as he swallowed forcibly, not looking at her lest he change his mind.  
  
"He needs me," he answered. Then pulling the door wide open, he was gone.

 

 

_Through the years and miles between us_  
_It's been a long and lonely ride_  
_But if I got that call in the dead of the night_  
_I'd be right by your side_

_Blood on blood_  
_One on one_  
_We'd still be standing_  
_When all was said and done_  
_Blood on blood_  
_One on one_  
_And I'll be there for you_  
_'Til Kingdom come_  
_Blood on blood_


End file.
